Dough
by ruin-me-dramione
Summary: A tiny story, inspired by a drawing from Upthehill. Hermione wants to cook, and Draco wants Hermione. Oneshot.


**Dough**

 _author's note: this tiny little piece was inspired by a drawing by wonderful and talented and amazing Upthehill. A link to her blog and the post with this story and her drawing are in my profile info Here is the drawing itself_

Draco refused to go back to Malfoy Manor after the war – not that anyone really insisted.

Lucius and Narcissa moved into their summer house and were perfectly happy there, and Draco brought his new bride, Hermione Granger into a small and cozy cottage, residing in a wizarding town between London and Birmingham.

"I love these big windows" she said dreamily, when they first arrived there, Hermione still oblivious that it was now their home.

"And the arches?" Draco leaned to a wall in a brightly lit kitchen. The house was still empty, not even a hint of furniture in it's newly painted rooms, on flawless hardwood floors.

"Magnificent" she turned to face him, smiling, sincerely in love with the place "I would love to cook in such a kitchen"

Draco smiled, lopsided grin spreading across his white face, tinted with a spray of early spring tan.

"I think you'll get that chance"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Draco..." she squinted even more, processing all the impulsive things he's done for the duration of their relationship and her doubts vanished "Did you buy this damn house?"

"I may have probably absolutely done just that" his grin widened, now a picture of sheer happiness with a dash of his usual impishness.

Hermione was staring at him for a few more silent minutes, and he knew to silently wait, though impatient.

Finally, she rolled her eyes and flew into his arms.

"You capital prat!" she was laughing, though considering yelling at him for a brief moment "You bough a _house_ without talking to me?"

"Are you really surprised?" he asked, moving slightly so that he could see her beaming face.

She stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his neck.

"Not even slightly"

"I love this house so freaking much!"

Draco was already awake for a few minutes, still refusing to get up from their gigantic bed. There was so many pillows – he stopped trying to count them and just assumed they were either mating and reproducing, or Hermione kept bringing new ones.

He smiled, sleepily, eyes closed, when he heard his goddess screech from the living room. Something like that kept happening every day since they moved in. Close to a month – and she still looked at their new abode as a child looks at a twinkling carnival fair.

Her favourite parts were the conservatory and, of course, the kitchen. She loved to cook, as Draco found out their seventh year at Hogwarts, when they just fell in love – and she was marvelous at it. She hardly ever used magick in the kitchen, but observing her Draco could honestly say that if there was witchcraft outside wands and incantations – _this_ was certainly it.

Anticipating a preparation of breakfast, he got up, and after five minutes of washing up showed up in the kitchen, where she was already creating something.

A thousand tiny bottles, vials and jars were scattered across the counters. There was flour everywhere, a kettle was warming up on the stove and Hermione stood with her back to him, in knickers and an old and baggy striped sweater she wore in Hogwarts on chilly spring evenings. Draco sat down at the table, legs crossed, an arm draped over the chair's back. He was taking in her appearance – hips gently swaying to a silent melody of her brilliant mind, hair even more messy than usual, flour on her hip.

 _Flour on her hip._

He licked his lips, looking at her bottom, transfixed.

A white splotch, so in contrast with her olive skin. So out of place on her perfect, round hip.

She moved to take the whistling kettle off the stove, and jumped, noticing her husband, whose expression was becoming rather hungry.

"Bloody hell, Draco!" she clutched her heart "You're sneaking up on me again!"

"Couldn't help myself" he smirked, looking at her from under his brow. His hair was slightly wet at the ends and ruffled. She smiled – he was precious in the mornings, unraveled and more real than ever.

"Your next birthday present will be a bell on a collar" she grabbed a mug from the cupboard in front of her "Tea?"

"No, thank you. I have my eyes set on a different breakfast."

"Oh?" she knew that tone all too well, and couldn't but get excited at once, though hiding it like a true Malfoy.

He didn't say anything, and instead of words she heard a low rumble from somewhere deep within his chest and a chair being tossed aside. She knew he was advancing, and just like two years ago she felt her stomach do a somersault, but held her ground, digging her fingers into the dough she was preparing for a delicious quiche.

Hermione was slowly kneading the soft dough, when she felt his hands on her hips, going through the exact same motions.

"You have flour on your arse" he whispered into her ear, biting impatiently on her neck. Hermione tried to keep a cool exterior for at least ten more seconds.

"Do I?"

His hand came down hard and unexpected on her bum, and she shivered, suppressing a yelp of pleasure and surprise.

"Not anymore"

He continued kissing and nibbling on her neck and shoulders, while she tried to keep kneading the dough – but all she was doing with it now was clutching it tightly, unable to think of anything but Draco's hot and hard stomach against her back and his raging erection pressing intimately, suggestively, deliciously to her tailbone.

She gave up when he moved his hands up her stomach under the thin sweater and cupped her breasts, pressing into her violently, like it hurt him being a millimeter away from her.

"Drop your pants" she breathed out, throwing her head back, letting him kiss her anywhere he could reach.

"As you wish" he turned her to face him, her hands smeared in flour.

He lifted her slightly, the tiny little thing she was compared to his towering figure, and kissed her, touching her lips with his tongue – always like the first time, always bittersweet, exciting and mind-numbingly amazing.

"There's going to be dough on everything, right?" She whispered, gasping for air, as he sat her on the counter and started his way down her body, impatiently removing the sweater on the way.

"I can assure you" he pulled down her knickers, kneeling before her "That there will."


End file.
